Call Me Maybe
by elanev91
Summary: Lily Evans keeps running into this fit, black-haired, spectacled bloke in the aisles at Tesco.


**Because I'm obnoxious and still can't stop listening to Carly Rae.**

 **I could have added more, more, more - but I pulled back a bit. You're welcome?**

* * *

She first noticed him in produce, digging through the courgette box like there was some hidden treasure at the bottom. She grabbed one from the top of the pile, and her hand entering his field of vision startled him, made him set down the half a dozen courgettes he had in his arms, and turn to look at her, cheeks flushed, as she dropped her vegetable into the basket on her arm.

'Sorry,' he said, running a now vegetable-free hand through his untidy black hair, 'my housemate is forcing me to be stupidly particular about my courgette selection.'

Lily raised her eyebrow at him, amused in spite of the weirdness of his statement, 'Oh?'

He laughed, ran a hand through his hair again, 'He,' he looked like he was about to launch into some long diatribe before he thought better of it, broke off, shook his head, 'It's stupid. Nevermind.'

She wanted to press the point, to find out just what it was about this man, his housemate, and courgettes that was causing him to dig through the entire box, but she decided to drop it. It was already gone six, she'd had a long day, and she really, really wanted to get home. She just smiled, turned, and walked away.

She saw him again in the breakfast aisle, staring at all the boxes of cereal on the shelf. His trolley was facing her, but she could see that he'd crossed one leg in front of the other, the toe of his shoe on the ground, his forearm resting on the handle of the trolley, his long body bent over a bit at the waist as he considered his options. He was _fit,_ all broad shoulders, and long, lean limbs, his glasses, retro-style wire frames with a thick black brow bar, made him look so sexy it should be outlawed, and even his hair, his completely mad hair that he had another hand buried in, was charming.

She adjusted her basket on her arm, stepped in front of him, grabbed her favourite muesli in the bright red box, and smiled at him when she turned around and caught his eye. She held it up, shook the box a bit, 'If you need a suggestion.'

He grinned, 'Thanks,' stepped behind her, grabbed a box of the muesli she'd suggested, and dropped it into his trolley as she walked past him, out of the aisle.

She was standing in the biscuit aisle when he walked in about five minutes later (because, at this point, of course he did), and his hand jumped immediately to his hair when he saw her there, bottom lip between her teeth, as she tried to talk herself out of getting half a dozen packs of biscuits.

He pushed his trolley about halfway down the aisle towards her before abandoning it to come stand beside her, 'What are our options?'

She laughed, turned to look at him, ' _Our_ options?'

He shrugged, 'You seem like a woman who takes her biscuit selection seriously, I'm sure there are options.' He'd completely ignored the fact that she was calling him out on his pronoun choice, so she decided to press the point a bit more.

She turned her gaze back towards the biscuits, 'Of course _I_ have options. I just wasn't aware that _we_ had options.'

She turned her head a bit (couldn't bloody help it) and he smiled when he caught her eye, 'Well, your muesli suggestion was top-notch, maybe I'm interested in your biscuit ideas, too.'

She grinned, 'I _do_ have biscuit ideas. Trouble is, I have too many biscuit ideas.'

He shook his head fervently, 'No such thing,' he was smiling at her again, a stupid megawatt smile that made her heart jump in her chest, 'there is absolutely no such thing as "too many" anything when it comes to biscuits.'

She hummed, 'I suppose you're right.'

He laughed, 'Course I am.'

She clicked her tongue, 'Modest, aren't we?'

He just grinned at her, turned to face the biscuits again, 'Enough about my genius. Let's talk options.'

They both agreed on the merits of gingernuts, bourbons, and digestives, had both agreed that _of course_ you need both plain _and_ chocolate digestives, that it would be a bloody crime otherwise, but when he'd tried to tell her that rich tea creams were better than Nice biscuits, she thought they might come to blows in the middle of Tesco.

'How _dare_ you,' she said, shaking her head to keep from laughing as he dropped the light blue packet into his trolley, 'try to convince me that those rubbish biscuits are any good.'

He scoffed, 'Please, I've lost all faith in your taste. Nice biscuits?! What kind of monster are you?'

She plucked the green packet off the shelf and dropped it into her basket with a challenging look on her face and he just shook his head, 'And here I thought we had so much in common.'

She snorted, 'Already building our future in your head, were you?'

He smirked, 'I was until you picked those dreadful biscuits.'

She grabbed another packet off the shelf just to spite him, flicked her hair over her shoulder, and strolled out of the aisle. He was laughing so hard that she almost turned around to look at him, but she thought it might ruin the effect.

When she finally managed to make her way through the rest of the store and towards the self checkout without seeing him again, she thought he might be gone for good - until she looked over and saw him ringing himself up at the till in the far corner, one hand buried in his hair as he grumbled at the computer. She smiled in spite of herself, dropped her shopping bag onto the scale, and began ringing her things up.

She had been a bit surprised at the thrill of relief that had run through her when she'd noticed him standing over in the self checkout, at the realisation that she hadn't missed him completely, that she had one more chance to say something to him before he left Tesco and, likely, her life. She'd never seen him here before and had no reason to believe that he would, realistically, ever be here again. Maybe he didn't live here and just ended up in Tesco to grab a few things on the way to wherever he was going, maybe this isn't his usual shopping night, but some things shifted around and forced him to come tonight instead, maybe he didn't normally shop at Tesco at all, but his old shop had flooded or something (or maybe he'd just wanted to try something new). A million little stories rolled through her brain as she scanned her things, and each and every one of them made her, bizarrely, feel like she needed to do _something_. Tell him he made her night, that she liked his glasses, give him her number…

Marlene was always telling her she should do things like this anyway, take chances and all that. She always argued that she _did_ take chances, that her whole day was full of fucking chances, but she couldn't deny that she'd been more… reserved… of late in her personal life. She always made excuses when Marlene brought it up (which seemed like a daily occurrence at this point), tried to explain why she wasn't interested in any of the men that always seemed to be chasing her, to let Marlene know that, no, she wasn't a weird recluse, she just hadn't found anyone that sparked her fancy, anyone that made her want to take a risk.

Until courgette man, apparently.

She groaned quietly, took a deep breath, 'Why the hell not,' and looked round to make sure that he (or the clerk hovering behind her) hadn't heard her talking to herself. She pulled a pen out of her bag, jotted her number down onto the bottom of her receipt as soon as it finished printing, and tore it off before she could let herself think about it too much. She slung her groceries over her shoulder as she walked over to him, and the crinkling of her bag made him look up and turn back to look behind him. He beamed when his eyes met hers, 'Of course you're here again,' he said, laughing as he turned towards her, groceries apparently forgotten.

She grinned, 'The Tesco gods do seem like they want to bring us together.'

He laughed, 'Tesco gods?' She shrugged, bit her lip to hide her smile, 'How else do you explain the impressive courgette selection?'

He snorted, 'Excellent point.' She smiled, 'Anyway, in an effort to avoid pissing off the Tesco gods,' she held out the bit of paper in her hand, and his eyes flicked towards it before he caught her gaze again.

He arched an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching, 'Your number?' She grinned, shrugged, 'Call me?'

He grinned, nodded, and she adjusted her bag on her shoulder, turned on her heel, and walked towards the exit.

Her mobile rang as she walked out of the double doors into the car park. She barely ( _barely_ ) contained the squeal threatening to burst out of her chest when she saw a number she didn't recognise. She accepted the call, and pressed the mobile to her ear as she turned, started walking up the sidewalk towards the street.

'Lily Evans.'

'Hi, Lily Evans, it's James Potter. Fancy getting dinner with me tomorrow night?'


End file.
